


Assassin's Creed: Black Sails

by ponytailflint (inkgeek)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkgeek/pseuds/ponytailflint
Summary: A fusion of Black Sails and Assassin's Creed: Black FlagLet me tell you a story about an Assassin named Vasquez. A few weeks ago, he staggers into an armory on an English merchant ship. Takes a sailor into his confidence. Vasquez, it turns out, is dying. Bleeding to death from a hidden blade wound to the belly. The blade wound is courtesy of his former employer: the Assassin Bureau in Seville.TL;DR: John Silver accidentally becomes an Assassin.





	1. A Spaniard Named Vasquez

When the cry of “Sail!” had gone up, every man aboard held his breath. Their worst fears were confirmed when the first mate called out “They’re raising the black! It’s Captain Flint!”

They’d tried to run, but the heavy-laden merchant ship couldn’t outpace Flint’s _Walrus_. A warning shot splashed just off the starboard bow before they could even set the stuns’ls. The captain had then made the incredibly stupid decision to turn and fight.

And now, as the _Walrus_ drew even with them, it was sheer chaos.

Musket and pistol shots cracked through the air. Grappling hooks thudded against the rails and bit into them. Fire and noise all around. Men screamed; some in pain, some in anger, and a few in terror.

One man, a notorious talker, was silent. He pushed his way past his shipmates without so much as a “pardon.” He had to get to the armory. He’d be safe there. Well… saf _er_.

The door stood slightly ajar. Without stopping to think why that might be, he slipped inside. As soon as he threw the bolt, John Silver found a blade at his throat. He held up his hands to show he was no threat, but the hooded figure holding the knife grabbed his collar and shoved him back against the door.

 _"¿Por qué estás aquí? ¿Eres Assassino o Templar?_ ” said the man. He gave Silver a shake. “ _¡Respóndeme!" _

“Look, would you put the knife down? I’m in here because I’m a fucking coward. I don’t mean you any harm!” The man’s grip on Silver relaxed. He lowered the blade. Or had it shot up his sleeve? He made a pained noise and put a hand to his belly. Even in the dim light, Silver could see blood leaking from between his fingers and staining his white robes dark red.

“I haven't much time,” said the man in a thick Spanish accent. “They are after me. You have to get this to Richard Guthrie in Nassau.” He shakily pulled a ledger from some unseen pocket in his robes. “Take it!” he pleaded, holding the book out to Silver. “Before _they_ do.” He jerked his head to the side, motioning to a corpse Silver hadn’t noticed in the shadows. The dead man on the floor was dressed similarly to the dying man standing in front of him.

“But--” Silver started, reaching out to take the ledger.

Suddenly, the roar of noise outside fell silent.

“Keep it safe,” said the man. Swaying on his feet from the blood loss, he clumsily unbuckled his wrist bracers and handed those to Silver as well. “It must not fall into their hands! Hide. And kill anyone who tries to stop it getting to Nassau.” He pushed Silver toward a stack of crates before collapsing. Stunned by what had happened in the last thirty seconds, Silver squeezed through a gap between the crates and tucked himself into the small space beyond.

 Not a heartbeat later, there was a pounding on the door.

 “Break it open, Billy,” said a voice. The pounding resumed, louder this time. Billy, whoever he was, made short work of the door with a boarding axe. Once he’d created a large enough hole, he carefully reached through and unbolted the door before stepping back.

A figure wearing yet another set of hooded robes, black this time, stepped inside. Silver had never seen a hooded robe before in his life and now he’d seen three in the last few minutes. He bent down and began rummaging through the Spaniard’s clothing.

“Vasquez, you bastard, where is it?” he growled. After half a minute of searching, he stood up and gave the corpse a sharp kick. “Fuck! It’s not here. Billy?”

“Yes, captain?” said Billy, a tall blond man who had to duck a little so as to not hit his head on the door-frame.

“I want this ship searched from stem to stern. If he knew Lowell here was onto him,” he gave the second corpse a nudge with his foot, “he may have hidden it.”

 “Got it,” Billy said, with a nod. He turned and repeated the order to search to the men on deck. The captain gave one last look around the armory. Beneath his hood, Silver caught the flash of a well-trimmed ginger beard and a set of piercing green eyes. He turned and left in a swoosh of fabric.

 Silver looked at the ledger in his hands and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm breaking my own rule of never posting a WIP in hopes that it will motivate me to, ya know, actually FUCKING WRITE.
> 
> I thrive on validation.
> 
> PS: There's hover translations of the Spanish. I'm super proud of myself for figuring out how to do that. :D


	2. Lively Nassau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get deja vu reading this, it's because it's very similar to the first version. There were, however, some important changes that will have and effect on the story going forward. Thank you for your patience.

The men aboard the merchant ship were given the choice of joining the crew of the  _ Walrus _ or taking their chances by staying on their ruined ship. Most elected to stay, terrified of the notorious Captain Flint and his cutthroat crew. Silver claimed he was a cook and was welcomed with open arms. Even though he hadn’t the slightest idea about cooking, he hoped the crew would be smarter than to harass the man in charge of the food.

Randall, the current ship’s cook, was not at all happy with Silver’s presence. Silver wasn’t all that pleased about  _ being _ present, so they had that in common, at least. He just had to hold out until they reached Nassau. Then he could leave this godforsaken ship and its godforsaken crew and never look back.

First chance he got, Silver opened the little book the dying Spaniard had given him and read its contents. It was written in several different hands and full of references to the Assassins and the Templars and the Observatory and The Ones Who Came Before. There were charts and drawings throughout. On the last page was a schedule with the heading “ _ Urca d’Lima” _ . So this was the all-important schedule at least two men had died over. Silver was not eager to be the third.

_ Maybe I can turn a profit from this _ , he thought. It would be an easy gift, not unlike scams he's pulled before.

Oh, Mr. Guthrie, the  _ pain _ and  _ suffering  _ I went through to bring this very important book halfway across the world to you was  _ unimaginable!  _ Oh, Mr. Guthrie, I couldn't  _ possibly _ accept all that gold! Alright, if you insist, Mr. Guthrie. Thank you. And my dear, sweet Jenny would thank you, too! She will have had the baby by the time I get back home. That is, if the consumption didn't take her first. Oh, no, Mr. Guthrie! I won't accept your charity. Though I suppose I must with my arm so weak after the accident...

Easy.

He could spin a sad yarn with the best of them.

When they reached Nassau, Silver was on the first boat to shore. Only then did he realize he had no idea who or where Richard Guthrie was. The best place to start was probably the tavern. Unfortunately, he was intercepted on his way there by his new shipmates and instead steered towards the brothel. They insisted that he must meet Blackbeard. Great.

As it happened, Blackbeard was not the famed pirate, but a woman with a truly astonishing crop of netherhair. And then Silver was set upon by no fewer than five whores. Who was he to decline their attentions?

\---

“What is the Observatory?” asked a voice in a lilting creole accent. Silver sat bolt upright from his drowse; curly hair a complete rat’s nest.

“That's private!” he said, feeling around for his shirt.

“I know,” said the woman perched on the edge of the round table in the corner. She turned a page lazily. “A whore for every finger on your hand, but your eyes kept drifting to this.” She held up the book as if he didn't know exactly what she was referring to.

“Well, joke’s on you because I don’t know what the Observatory is either,” said Silver. He got up and walked toward her, but the woman moved out of his reach.

“Then why is it so important to you?” she asked. “Is the information valuable?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out! A man gave it to me with his dying breath and said it had to get to Richard Guthrie.” The woman cocked her head to the side and blinked at him. The look on her face was indecipherable. “I take it you know him?”

“His daughter and I are… very well acquainted.”

“So you could take me to him,” Silver said, hopefully.

“I could be  _ persuaded _ to, yes.” The way she was holding the book -- running her slender fingers along the cover and spine, shifting the weight of it from hand to hand -- was practically obscene.

“Woman, I --”

“Max,” she interrupted.

“ _ Max _ , I was just set upon by you and your… coworkers. I don’t think I’ve got it in me to  _ persuade _ you again right now.” She rolled her eyes and looked at him like he was a particularly dim toddler.

“Not that kind of persuasion,  _ cher _ .” Max held the book out to him, but snatched it back at the last second. “ _ Financial _ persuasion.”

\---

“Ah, Mister Vasquez,” said Richard Guthrie from behind his desk, “I was beginning to think your ship had been attacked by pirates. Do you have it?”

“Well, it was, but yes, I do have it,” said Silver, pulling the book from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“The Order thanks you for your service,” said Guthrie as he rose. He held his hand out for the book. Silver didn’t move. “Is something the matter, Mister Vasquez?”

“Well, sir, it’s just that…” he paused, trying to seem like he didn’t want to say what came next. “It’s just that I did face substantial risk bringing this to you. And as I mentioned, we were attacked by pirates. Captain Flint, in fact, and…”

“Oh!” Guthrie patted down his coat pockets. “Of course you’ll be wanting compensation. Ah, here we are!” He handed Silver a purse slightly larger than what he had been expecting -- even after his sob-story. “And an extra guinea for the run in with Flint.” Silver watched carefully as Guthrie retrieved the promised guinea from a little wooden box on a shelf behind his desk.

“Thank you, kindly,” said Silver, touching a knuckle to his brow in salute.

“No, no, thank  _ you _ , Mister Vasquez,” Guthrie replied with a smile. “May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

“May the… Father of Understanding guide us.” What the fuck did that even mean? Ah, well, what did it matter? Silver thought as he left Guthrie’s office. He had his money. He’d probably never hear about the Father of Understanding ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Still_ taking suggestions for a less shitty title.


	3. This Tyro Sea Cook

“Fuck!” shouted Captain Flint, hurling the last of the books from the merchant ship across his cabin. “It's not fucking here!” He sat down heavily in his desk chair and put his head in his hands.

“Are you sure Vasquez even had it?” asked Gates. Flint didn't look at him.

“I'm not, but the Seville bureau certainly is.” He sighed. “Someone must have it. We tore apart that ship and searched all the crew. Someone got to it first. Fucking Templars.”

“Maybe it's best to let it go,” Gates suggested, hopefully. “Get back to honest pirating; keep on being a thorn in the Templars’ side. The crew is getting frustrated. Singleton’s making mutinous noises again. That is cause for concern.”

“Singleton is always making mutinous noises,” said Flint. He leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I'll be concerned when they slip a round robin under my cabin door.”

“Something tells me this crew would forgo the formalities and skip to just slitting your throat,” Gates chuckled.

“I'd like to see them try,” Flint replied with a smirk. He flicked one of his hidden blades out for emphasis.

\---

“Maybe we should be thinking about where the book was going and not where it supposedly was,” Billy offered his mentor. “Seville said Vasquez was trying to get it to Nassau, yeah? Who’s the Master in Nassau?”

“Richard Guthrie,” Gates said, looking as though speaking the name made him ill. “If Guthrie’s got it, it'll already be too late.”

“I'm not saying he _has_ got it. Only that it might be on its way to him. We could intercept it before it's delivered!” Billy had the makings of a fine Assassin. He was clever and strong, but sometimes he got too wrapped up in his own plans.

“We’ve been in port a whole day! If the book was on that ship or ours, there’s no way Guthrie _hasn’t_ got it by now,” said Gates. “Someone clever enough to get it off Vasquez would be clever enough to assimilate themselves into our crew without us looking twice at them.”

A strange look came over Billy’s face. “Someone like the cook? Any sailor worth his salt knows not to bully the cook. It would be the perfect place to hide! And I don’t remember searching ‘im.”

“Nor do I,” Gates confirmed. Billy sprang for the door. “Easy!” Gates put a hand on his shoulder. “If it really is the cook and he really _does_ have the book, he’ll bolt the moment he thinks we’re onto him. Be a face in the crowd.” Billy took a deep breath and -- with no small amount of effort on his part -- relaxed his shoulders. He opened the door.

\---

Flint surveyed his ship from the quarterdeck. He leaned on the rail as men bustled about, moving cargo and new supplies this way and that. A longboat was just launching for shore. It was packed to the gunwales with randy sailors eager to get their leg over as soon as possible.

Movement caught his eye. Billy, Gates’s novice, was striding purposefully across the deck.

“Where’s the cook?” asked Gates, having suddenly appeared beside him.

“Dunno,” said Flint, “Don’t care. Why?”

“Billy thinks he’s got the book.” Flint’s grip on the rail tightened. His knuckles went white. “Did you search him when he came on board?”

“No,” said Flint through gritted teeth, “Because I left that to you and Billy while I started on the captain’s books.”

Before either man could say any more, the curly-haired cook came up from below. By sheer coincidence, he locked eyes with Flint. He must not have liked what he saw there because he immediately started casting around for an escape route. He was halfway back to the hatch when he caught sight of Billy who was stalking toward him whilst trying very hard to not look like he was stalking toward anyone.

The cook raced up to the main deck and, before Flint could even descend from the quarterdeck, got his foot up on the side.

 _Don't fucking do it_ , Flint mouthed. The little shit looked him right in the eye as he grabbed hold of a line to steady himself. _Don't,_ Flint mouthed again. He took a step toward the cook and the cook took the last step up onto the rail. They both froze.

And then Billy made a lunge for him. The cook leapt over the side in the most un-Assassin-like Leap of Faith Flint had ever seen. He looked over the side just in time to see the cook smack down on his belly with an enormous splash.

He came up screaming.

Flint started to shrug out of his heavy coat and step up onto the rail himself, but Gates stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t.”

“Why?” growled Flint. “I wasn’t gonna kill him.”

“The _captain_ attacking a presumably innocent man will do you no favors in the next vote,” Gates reasoned. “Let him go. Now that we know what he looks like, we can catch him in Nassau. The number of Templar boltholes are limited and a newcomer like that won’t be hard to find.”

Flint huffed in frustration. Gates was right, of course, but he was damned if he was going to let that little shit live to see the sunrise.


	4. Nothing is True...

Flint caught him in the Wrecks. Silver had been doing his best to stay hidden, but it was like the captain could see through walls. He’d managed to keep ahead of Flint and his man for a good while, but he suddenly found himself thrown up against a rock with a blade at his throat.

“Where’s the book?” Flint snarled. 

“What book?” said Silver, signature disarming smile firmly in place. Flint leaned forward and Silver felt the blade bite into his skin ever so slightly. “Alright! Alright! I… don’t have it.”

“Then you’re no use to me,” said Flint. He started to move like he was going to cut Silver’s throat.

“BUTIKNOWWHEREITIS!” Silver said in a rush. “I know where it is! If you kill me, you'll lose your chance at ever finding it.” Damn the money. Can’t spend money when you’re dead.

Flint seemed to consider this for a moment, then released his hold on Silver. Silver put a hand to his neck and his fingers came away bloody. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

“No,” said Flint, who then proceeded to take out a handkerchief and clean Silver’s blood off his… arm-blade-thing. 

_ Hidden blade _ , Silver remembered belatedly.

Hidden blade?!

“You’re a Templar?” Silver asked, a little relieved, to be honest. At least he knew his enemy. Sort of.

“I most certainly am fucking  _ not _ a fucking Templar!” Flint growled as he roughly grabbed Silver by the arm and proceeded to frogmarch him in the general direction of Nassau.

\---

“Let me get this straight,” said Flint, clearly trying very, very hard to stay calm. “You’re not a Templar or an Assassin. You’re just some shit who happened upon a dying rogue Assassin and thought maybe you could get some money out of turning crucial information over to the Templar Order.”   


They were in an office at the tavern. Presumably it belonged to the proprietor and presumably the proprietor had been the cross-looking woman who had been the room’s sole occupant before Flint barged in, dragging Silver by the arm. He’d shackled him to a divan and waited for his two cohorts to arrive. The short one in white and blue robes with a red sash turned out to be Gates the quartermaster and the (very) tall one with grey sleeves who had helped Flint chase him through the Wrecks was the handsome bosun, Billy. Would the wonders never cease?   


“Well, yeah,” said Silver, who had still not been given a handkerchief. Rude. “But, as you said, I’m just some… shit… who didn’t know what he had. I was only in it for the money. I don’t want anything to do with any secret organizations or Observatories or Precursors. At this point, I’d like most of all to just keep my head down and not get involved.”

“Too bad, son, because now you are involved and we can’t very well let you leave with all that information in your head,” Gates said. “I’m afraid it’s either join us or…” He flicked out his hidden blade.   


“That’s not much of a choice, is it?” Silver snorted. “Probably die or definitely die?”   
  
“That’s the gist of it,” Flint muttered. He folded his arms like a sulking child.

“I’ve sent word to Vane and he’s agreed to meet with us,” said Gates. “We can’t take on the Templars with just the three of us and  _ this _ .” Here he motioned to Silver. “We’re going to need support. Vane is one of the more powerful captains on the island and -- despite their falling out -- I think he might have some sway with Miss Guthrie.”

Flint snorted. “She’ll probably do the exact opposite of what he asks out of spite. We could cut out the middleman… woman… and get the damn book back ourselves.”

"How do you propose we get into a heavily guarded Templar Master's house?” Gates asked, now on the offensive.

“We've got  _ this _ .” Flint jerked his head toward Silver. 

“Me?” said Silver. “Surely you know where Guthrie lives. What do you need me for?”

Flint turned to him with a humorless smirk on his face. 

“Bait.”

\---

Flint crouched on the ridgeline of the Guthrie manor. His black robes allowed him to blend in with the shadows cast by the bright moon in the sky. And Gates had said he was being “sullen” and “melodramatic” when he’d ordered his robes in black. The standard white robes would shine almost as brightly as the moon itself on a night like this. Not for the first time, Flint felt a little smug about his foresight.

Below, he could hear Silver talking to Guthrie's men at the door:

“I have important information for Master Guthrie,” Silver was saying.

“He ain't expectin' no visitors this late,” one of the men countered. “He's been abed for hours!”

“Were it not critical to the Order, would I have come at this hour?” Silver pushed past and entered the house. “Master Guthrie will be most displeased when he hears how you delayed me.” 

The man who had spoken earlier mumbled something to his cohort that Flint couldn’t quite make out, then said, “Go wait in his office. He’ll be with you shortly. He won’t be happy, mind, but he’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” said Silver politely. Flint could hear the fake smile in his voice.

Using his Eagle Vision, Flint tracked Silver through the manor to Guthrie’s office. Silver was nervous. He fidgeted and paced, occasionally stopping to examine something. Flint blinked hard to clear the Eagle Vision before it gave him a headache. Using the Sense too much always took a toll on him.

Silently, he dropped down into the bushes outside Guthrie’s office window. He whistled lowly to catch Silver’s attention. It was enough to startle Silver out of his nervous pacing, but he didn’t come to the window. Rolling his eyes, Flint tapped on the shutter.

“Open the window, you twat!” he hissed. A moment later, the latch clicked and the shutter opened. Flint easily leapt up into the room.

“He isn't here yet,” said Silver. Flint rolled his eyes.

“I can see that. Go wait by the desk,” he instructed. He moved to stand in the shadowy corner on the hinge side of the door. Silver did as he was bidden and strode back over to the desk just in time for the door to open.

Silver turned, startled. Flint couldn't see Guthrie from his position behind the door, but Silver’s relieved expression told him everything he needed to know: no guards.

“Mister Vasquez,” said Guthrie, stifling a yawn, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this midnight visit?”

“It concerns Captain Flint.” Flint tensed. Was Silver about to double -- no -- triple-cross him? “He is more of a threat than you realize. A member of his crew in my employ came to me this evening with information.” Flint let out a silent sigh of relief. Never in his life had he been so glad to hear a lie from someone else's mouth.

“Oh?” Guthrie closed the door behind him. He had taken Silver’s bait. Flint stayed put, waiting for the opportune moment.

“Yes,” Silver continued, “he somehow got a copy of the  _ Urca’s _ schedule and intends to intercept her. If we can divine his intended course, perhaps he can be stopped. Do you still have the schedule?”

“Of course! Yes, we must set things in motion as soon as possible. Let me just send a message with one of my men--” 

“No!” Silver all but shouted. It was inelegant but it kept Guthrie's attention. “We should have more information to hand before sending the message. Let us compare the schedule to the intelligence I received.”

“I suppose it it lucky you came when you did, Mister Vasquez,” said Guthrie, crossing the rest the way to his desk. “The book was to be sent to my contact in the Carolina colony in the morning." He pulled a key on a silver chain from beneath his shirt. It glittered even in the low candle light. The bow was a Templar cross.

Flint was across the room in the blink of an eye. He yanked the key from Guthrie's hand, breaking the chain, and tossed it to Silver, who caught it and scrambled around the desk to find the drawer it unlocked..

Guthrie didn’t have time to react before Flint buried his blade in his chest. The world shrank. It was just the two of them in the darkness. 

“Who is your contact?” Flint growled, lowering Guthrie to the floor.

“Flint!” whispered Guthrie, eyes wide.

Flint gave him a shake. “In Carolina! Who is your contact?!”

“I know him only as The Apostle! I have no more information than that!”

“Surely you know what the  _ Urca’s  _ precious cargo is. Is it gold? Slaves?” Flint pressed.

“Gold, certainly, but also something more precious. Something to give the Order power beyond all imagining! You may kill me if you wish, but soon the Assassins will be wiped from the Earth like the filth they are!” He spat blood in Flint’s face, then expired. The world rematerialized.

“Found it!” said Silver, holding the book triumphantly aloft.

“Good,” Flint huffed, “Now let’s go before someone comes to investigate the noise.” He was up and out the window before Silver had a chance to argue.


End file.
